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Thursday, March 28, 2019

Reach


Reach

I am taken in
by the height
of the trees.
Crane my neck,
lift my chin
as high as
it will go
to see how
they reach for
the sky.
So enamored
am I that
I pass by
the branches that
reach out to
one another.

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Tuesday, March 26, 2019

The Lake


The Lake

The lake provides a peace I don't often find.
I fall into its rhythm without a thought.
The movement relaxes me and clears my mind.
It frees me from all of the worries I brought.
I watch the waves and the way they are aligned.
They roll in and bring me the answers I sought.

This poetic form is strambotto.


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Thursday, March 21, 2019

Spring Promises


Spring Promises

The return of leaves
that rustle in the wind.
Baby birds that will become
singers in Mother Nature's choir.
Flowers that add colors to the land-
scape and fragrances to the air.
Growth all around.

Guess what the prompt was for this one.

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Tuesday, March 19, 2019

Trails We Leave


Trails We Leave

The trails we leave leave
directions that others may choose. Choose
to start out the same way. Weigh
other options that come along, along
paths that curve, curve.
This form is called echo verse.

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Thursday, March 14, 2019

Power Up


Power Up

Focus the power
to provide
enough thrust.
Keep climbing
through the
cloud ceiling
until it be-
comes a floor.
Maintain cruis-
ing altitude.
Be prepared for
turbulence, but
continue to soar.

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Tuesday, March 12, 2019

A Meaningful Prize


A Meaningful Prize

I see me
surrounded by faithful friends
who allow me to feel free.

I standstill
while the branches swish and sway.
Watch until I have my fill.

The clear cold
water washes my worries
out and I slip their choke hold.

Peace of mind
is mine, a meaningful prize.
One I am grateful to find.

This poem is written in an Irish form--treochair.

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Thursday, March 7, 2019

Between Then and Now




Between Then and Now

I wish there were
a border between
then and now.
A guard would
stop me and ask
for my passport.
"Where are you going?"
"Back then."
He would look at
all the stamps.
"You've been there often."
 I would nod.
"Not today,"
he would say as
he held out my ID.
I would stare at him
as I took it back,
lower my eyes, and
then, turn away.


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Tuesday, March 5, 2019

No Game


No Game

There will be no game today.
The normal horseplay stops cold.
No one wants to risk a slip.
Feel the rip as pain takes hold.

This poem is an Awdl Gywydd.

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